


Scattered Feathers

by Sandentwins



Category: Taiyou no Ko Esteban | Les Mystérieuses Cités d'or | The Mysterious Cities of Gold
Genre: Fist Fights, Gen, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Mendoza's Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandentwins/pseuds/Sandentwins
Summary: Mendoza had a family, once. It's long gone and disappeared, but still real in his memories. After all this time, he's given up hope of seeing them ever again, but one's past has many ways to come back up.
Kudos: 2





	Scattered Feathers

How could the world be both so dark and so warm? Mendoza had long since stopped asking himself.

The team had stopped for the night, finding respite in a corner of the African wildlands to rest their tired bodies. They've started a small fire, and already the smell of food was floating in the air, calling for a good meal shared with friends. He could hear the children laughing, the sailors happily discussing, everyone trying to forget their misadventures a little. Mendoza tried to smile in turn, but he just didn't have the heart to. 

Sitting away from the group, he was pensively gazing at the landscape ahead, his thoughts unable to leave him alone. Thoughts about a certain woman who kept haunting his mind, of course; but that night, she wouldn't be alone. He's lost the notion of time a while ago, and only caught up with the calendar in passing, yet his intuition told him he couldn't be wrong. And this time of year...oh, how he dreaded to think about it.

It's always been a sore time for him. A time to recall all the bad decisions he's taken, all the what-ifs that plagued his memories, all the alternate turns of a twisted path he's had the misfortune to walk upon. One in particular wouldn't leave him alone, one that stood like a deadly flower in a field of thorns. Beauty hidden in sadness, that only hid more sorrow.

His face. His face has always been beautiful. Mendoza knew that he'd grow up into a lovely man, and openly told him so. But now, that'd never get to happen, would it? He sighed, letting his head rest on his arm, thinking back on the days where it'd just be the two of them, fighting against the world. Two children lost out among an ocean of cruel adults, with nothing but each other to rely on. 

They've made promises. They've made plans. They've acted on them...and that was his undoing. That only wrecked everything, ruined one life and terminated the other. And he kept thinking about it on and on, especially during this time of year. He's thought about it so much that it practically rotted away at his soul, taking a bit more of him every year. There was so much gone already that he'd never recover, no matter how he tried; for that was how much it was weighing on his mind.

“That's your bad days' face, pal.”

Mendoza blinked, looking at Pedro who just sat next to him. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

He took the bowl of food he was handed, but didn't have any heart to eat. So he simply looked away, not knowing what to say.

“I suppose I'm just thoughtful.”

“Wouldn't that have to do with a certain swashbuckler, hm?”

The teasing was very much unwelcome, given his current state of mind; Mendoza's cold glare ought to show it. Immediately, Pedro understood he shouldn't have said that. 

“...it's not her.”, Mendoza said, more calmly. “It's different.”

“Well...you know you can tell me, old pal. It'll make you feel better.”

“Will it really?”, he asked, disbelieving.

“Doesn't hurt to try.”

Mendoza kept staring ahead, silently. But he knew his friends would worry. He quickly glanced to make sure the children were not in hearing range, before trying to alleviate his thoughts.

“I was thinking back on...on my brother. That's all.”

“Oh, right...”

Pedro and Sancho have never met him, that was way before the three's encounter. But it's not like he never spoke of him either. While they did not know of all the story, they were aware of his existence, and especially of his importance in Mendoza's mind.

“It's around today that...that it happened, right?”

Mendoza nodded. 

“I can't help but think of it. I've been careless...he died by my own fault.”

“Now, don't say such things! You know it wasn't your fault.”

“But it was. I brought him with me, and...and...”

His throat felt stuck, unable to keep speaking. Why? Why couldn't he form words? It was supposed to be simple! So why was everything aching?

“...and you did what you could to escape your situation!”, Pedro insisted. “No one can blame you for that.”

“They did. They all did, and I'm the first to do so.”

Pedro sighed, with a resolve few had seen of him.

“Look, you couldn't have known. Anyone would have wanted to escape your family, and you actually did it; not only that, but you also brought your brother with you! You had his best interests at heart.”

“I would gladly have stayed there, if it meant he'd stay with me.”

“And become a miserable wreck of a human being?”

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Don't lie to me, buddy. I remember all those times you'd come running into the inn, beaten an inch away from your life and barely holding together. How would that have turned out? You did what was best.”

He didn't know what to say, so he simply sighed. It's true that his teenage years have been a horrible time in his life, in no small fault due to his harpy of an aunt. Only thinking back on it made him cringe with fear and disgust, his skin tremble with echoes of beatings and bruises, her shrill voice still drumming in his ears. 

“...it was horrible.”, he conceded. “But without Esteban, it was even worse.”

Pedro looked at him strange, glancing back to the boy sitting by the fire.

“My brother.”, Mendoza cleared up. “That was his name too.”

A fairly common Spanish name, all things considered. The Child of the Sun wouldn't have to ask himself why this one out of many other possible names. Only Mendoza would know it was a gift from one promising boy to another. Almost like a substitute; only years after the golden-eyed baby had been handed over to the monastery, had it dawned on him how childish it was of an idea.

“Well...it didn't last forever.”, Pedro tried. “You left at some point anyway.”

“I made it out, and he didn't. Had I waited a few more years...”

“Maybe it wouldn't have turned out this way. Maybe you'd both be in the ditch right now.”

Mendoza's fist clenched, feeling how horrible of a thing that was to say. But he was right, and there was no dismissing it. 

“I'm sorry it happened. I'm sure your brother was a great guy, and I'd have loved to meet him. However, you're here talking about how it could have gone better...but it could have gone worse too!”

That didn't help much. So Pedro felt the need to try again.

“And hey! Who's saying he's dead, hm? You said you lost him out at sea, but who's to say he didn't survive?”

“I've long considered that possibility, you know. It just can't be.”

“Who says so? Esteban's father survived a shipwreck. We did too! Anyone of your blood is bound to be tough.”

He playfully hit his shoulder.

“Have a bit more faith in your folks, would you? You talk of them like they're a bunch of rotten apples, but we know it's not the truth.”

Mendoza couldn't help a slight smile. The rotten part of his family, the one he was stuck growing up with, was all on his father's side. Yet his mother and her crewmates, the big family of the wind sailors, have been some of the greatest people he's ever known. 

He remembered her. Her thick curls, her loud voice, her cut and scratched hands that were always so gentle with little him. She never backed down, never surrendered, never gave up in the face of danger. She disappeared doing what she knew best: fighting the King's navy and protecting her legacy. Sometimes, Mendoza liked to think he got that from her, like a last gift from his homesea. 

And for a while, the three of them were happy. But it didn't last, and their life on the high seas was torn apart. It felt so distant, so out of reach, that the idea either of his mother or brother were still alive felt like a dream never to come true. 

“I'm not sure this could ever happen.”, he eventually said.

“Hope never hurts, does it?”

It didn't, true. Stripped of everything else, that might as well be the only thing he had left.

“Come on. You need some serious cheering up, pal. And I know just what to do.”

Mendoza sighed, but showed a faint smile anyway.

“I guess it can't be helped, then.”

And after some more contemplation, he went to sit with the others.

~~~~~ 

Kilwa really was a big place. A nasty, shady place crawling with bad business like jungle ants over a dead body. Yet it was their only lead, and only that Cinza guy could help their quest. 

Granted they find him first. Zia and Mendoza have been wandering around for a good hour, asking people about the elusive man, yet no one has been able to give them an answer that wasn't ignorance or pure vagueness. Seems that Cinza didn't want to be found, which made him wonder how he even got to be known in the first place. That, or his reputation simply preceded him. Still, it felt frustrating to be searching around, unable to find whom he was looking for; that, and the children's moral situation that had plummeted like crazy, following what they've seen earlier.

At some point, he and Zia got separated. He tried to follow after her, but knew her well enough to know she was onto something unrelated yet important. There was no changing these kids, he sighed to himself, so he'd leave her to her usual shenanigans and watch from afar. She was smart enough to not get in danger that easily. 

However, as he walked alone in the streets of Kilwa, a disturbing feeling washed over him. He didn't even need to glance behind him to know he was being followed; at least two or three different people, based on sound alone. It wasn't too obvious, but it was here.

Trouble attracts trouble, it seems.

He played along at first. Pretended not to notice, headed between streets a little at random. Mentally mapped all possible escape routes, before coming to a halt in the middle of a recluse alley. And then only did he turn around, facing his followers.

“It would be rude to not introduce each other, wouldn't it?”

The two ruffians glared at him, weapons ready to appear. Mendoza brought a hand to his sword, letting them know he'd retaliate if they tried anything. Yet he kept watch of his back as well, for he heard the metallic shing of a dagger being drawn.

“We already know you're a meddler.”

A young voice. If he turned around to face it, he'd leave his back open for the two brigands to do whatever they pleased; but then, he found he didn't have to. For the person behind him suddenly moved, jumping against a nearby wall and leaping off it with impressive dexterity, landing straight in front of him. And they stared right at him, looking for trouble.

“And we don't like it very much, sadly.”

A woman. A fairly young one, he thought, but the way she stood before the other two told him that she was the one to fear. He quirked his brows, unsure of what to say, but Laguerra's behavior and fierce temper came back to mind. Right...he wouldn't go soft, then.

“What business do you have with me?”, he asked.

“What business do you have with Cinza?”

“So you're working for him, I presume?”

“I'm the one asking questions here.”

She snapped her fingers, and the bandits drew their scimitars. She didn't seem to have any weapons herself; just in case, Mendoza grabbed the hilt of his own sword, feeling there'd be no chatting with these goons.

“I simply wanted to meet him. That isn't forbidden, is it?”

“Depends. You don't look like his type of entourage.”

She glanced him over. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then resumed her quips.

“Or...his type of _entourage_. Sure are fancy, but not fancy enough for the job.”

Her croons chuckled at that, but Mendoza stayed impassible. His attention could not draw away from what was unfolding.

There was something about her. Did he know her from somewhere? He could swear he's seen her face before, but he couldn't place it. Thick brown curls, sharp traits, jumpy feet, and a stare that wouldn't leave his face. Well, whoever she was didn't matter; for now, he had a whole other situation at hand.

“Just take me to him, and I won't bother you any longer.”, he offered. “We could all use peace, don't we?”

“I could do that, yeah. Or...I could have some fun with you before I turn you in.”

Devil's guts. Seems the peaceful option wouldn't work.

“What makes you think I'll let you do so?”

“I know you will. Weaklings like you know how to gently obey.”

Mendoza huffed, and drew out his sword. 

“You've misjudged me greatly, señorita. A mistake you shouldn't have made. So, we can settle this easily, or do it the hard way: the choice is yours.”

The two bandits stepped forward, but the woman snapped her fingers at them. She glared at him still, and stepped in turn, decided to settle this here and now. One-on-one? Fine by him. Yet instead of drawing a sword or even a pistol, she simply armed her fists at him like a hand-to-hand fighter.

“Now you're just making this uneven.”, he scoffed. “I can't possibly fight y-”

Bam. Before he even knew it, his sword flew out of his hand, landing a few feet away. Her own foot was raised in the air, from where she's just kicked his weapon out of his grasp. Before he could even react, she jumped again and gave another kick, this time aiming for his face, and he barely even managed to protect himself before it hit, sending him stumbling back. He fell on the ground with a huff, and the goons snickered at him, who was so powerful just a moment ago and now had bitten the dust all teeth out.

“You're right.”, the woman snorted. “That _is_ uneven!”

Her mocking laughter only made it even more bitter. Mendoza stood back up, reaching for his sword; yet another kick sent it flying out of reach.

“Aww, baby boy can't fight without his butter knife? What a land dweller, really!”

“Don't you get on my nerves!”

Irate, he matched her stance, fists ready to hit and feet steady on the ground. 

“If you want a fight, you'll get it!”

“Not from you, I hope.”

Before he could react, she swooped down and aimed for his ankle, and he fell to the ground; but he managed to catch himself before her other foot could hit him in the face. He stood up like he could, just as she was going for another strike, and raised his leg to shield himself. It hit him in the shin, and it hurt quite badly too, but he tried to not show it. Not show any weakness, cause that was what she wanted. 

“You wench...”, he breathed out. “What are you playing at?”

“Too advanced for you? You can give up, you know. I wouldn't blame you.”

That only made him _not_ want to give up. This time, it was his turn to charge, and he headed for her face; but his leg couldn't bend that high up, and while his foot was in the air, she went for his other ankle to trip him. In a sudden reflex, his foot fell back down, and he stepped on her leg to stop her swooping kick, which gave him a moment's relief to get away. Try to blame _that!_

“...not bad.”, she admitted, getting back up. “Didn't see it coming.”

“You won't see the next one either.”

She grinned, taking it as a challenge, and went at him again. Mendoza readied himself, and met her with all attack the strength he could muster. 

It was so weird. He's never been well-versed in hand-to-hand combat, besides some tavern fisticuffs, yet it was obvious this woman had training in some elaborate, bizarre fighting style. She had the powerful kicks of a monk of Shaolin, yet no such grace, discipline or technique. She was kicking at random, swooping, punching with force, and counting on all varieties of dirty tricks to make him fall. Mendoza tried to retaliate, to hit her in return, but just when he thought he had her attacks figured out, she'd pull out some nasty cheat to surprise him. No body part was off-limits for her strikes, be it his face, his gut or even lower; she had no shame abusing his weak spots. Faced with this much devilry, all he could do was to endure it was much as he could, and letting her exhaust herself. 

It seemed to work. The more powerful her kicks, the more she'd tire herself out. That's when he'd strike, and retaliate with precise moves right where it hurt. Despite the ruthless nature of their altercation, he didn't want to go all out on her, for she was still smaller and meeker than he was. He knew he could pummel her to death if he wanted to, and he did _not_ want to do that. Not when she was his only lead to Cinza, and the rest of the trail. 

She went for his face, and he shielded himself with his arm. His other hand moved, and clocked her right in the nose, sending her to the ground. She fell with a thud, somehow getting even dustier than their dirt fight had made her, and stopped moving. He feared he's gone too far, that he's somehow killed her, but she weakly stood up on wobbly legs, a hand to her face.

“You cursed little fuck...”

She lifted her head, and he saw blood on her fingers. Her nose was bleeding.

“Fania! What has he done to you?”

The two bandits that mostly stood around until now got to her, and she shooed them away. Was she...crying? They turned to Mendoza, obviously irate.

“You bastard! Look at what you did!”

“You made her cry!”

Mendoza managed to pick up his sword, his own body shaking and bruised. He wasn't in any state to fight back. He tried to stand his ground all the same, ready to defend himself, but the woman held back her goons.

“Cut it, you two!”

Blood dripped down her mouth, making it a little hard for her to speak. Her eyes were pooling with tears, that she was obviously trying to hold back. Did he hurt her that bad? 

_Did I hurt you that bad? I didn't mean to._

“I...I didn't mean to.”, he tried.

She glared at him, blinking away her blooming tears. 

“You fucking made me bleed. And now you're saying you didn't mean it?”

“I didn't!”

_You did! It hurts! I'm sorry. I didn't want to. Here, you can hurt me back._

“You're lucky I've got my rules.”

She wiped the blood away, only smearing it more. It would have looked so tough on her, if not for the fact she was now crying like a kid, and trying so hard to not show it. 

“Fania, that guy's insane! Let's get done with him!”

“I said, I've got my rules! He drew blood, he wins. See red, stop dead.”

_And remember, kids: when you see red, you stop dead. We fight to win, not to kill._

“You were quite close yourself.”, Mendoza said, feeling his bruises. “That's...impressive technique, you've got there.”

The woman scoffed at his attempt at flattery.

“Trained with the best there are.”, she replied. “Authentic wind sailor moves.”

And at that, Mendoza froze right in his tracks.

“Now, you've got two choices. Either you get right out of here and never come back, either I chase you down for the rest of your short, pathetic life. Cinza's paying high money to have his business undisturbed, so meddlers like you can fuck right off.”

But he didn't answer. He couldn't answer. His mind was already gone in a whole other direction. 

“...wind sailors?”, he breathed. “There's...wind sailors, here? In Kilwa?”

And that seemed to get the woman's attention in turn.

“Oh, you know us? I see our reputation precedes us.”

“'Us'? You don't mean…?”

She only snickered, and stood straight as she could, arms crossed. 

“That's right. You're talking to the current leader of the wind sailors' fleet: Fania the Gull, nice to meet you.”

And she gave him an odd hand gesture that he knew was a salute. He's seen it before, shared between his mother and her crewmates; instinctively, he did the same in return. 

He wanted to believe this woman. But something felt off. It didn't make sense. He knew there were several tribes of wind sailors, so these guys could be from an other ocean, and yet...something was definitely wrong.

“Why should I believe you?”, he tried. “You're way too young to be a leader.”

That made her huff. With her still-wet eyes, she looked like a child fresh out of a temper tantrum. Who chose this runt as their leader?

“Yet I am. If you've got trouble with that, fight me.”

She grinned.

“If you dare.”

“Bold words for someone who's just gotten a beating.”

Her smile dropped bitterly, and that brought him some amusement. 

“You don't want to mess with me.”, she threatened. “You may have beaten me, but a _gaviota_ never backs down.”

“What!?”

_Sure, you may be strong. But are you strong enough to defeat La Gaviota?_

Now that she said the word, it clicked in his head. That face...that familiarity! Those sharp kicks! Could it be that…? No, it couldn't, it couldn't! 

“How do you know her?”, he gritted between his teeth. 

She's used the Spanish word instead of the Portuguese one, she could be comparing herself to just any seagull...but the coincidence was too great. He didn't want to believe it was all a coincidence. Had he been wrong, she'd be asking him whom he was talking about. But instead, after an initial moment of doubt, she just sneered.

“You've had a run-in with La Gaviota, I see. Well, be honored, for you're speaking to her only daughter.”

“You're lying!!”

He didn't know what prompted such an outburst. But that girl was lying, there was no other way. There was none other!!

“How _dare_ you use her name to lie about yourself?! You're despicable!”

“I don't need to lie. All I'm saying is the truth.”

“You're a liar! A filthy liar, that's all you are!!”

His fists clenched. She was lying, there was no other way. La Gaviota never had a daughter, she never had anyone but...but the two of _them_. There were only the two of them, from the beginning to the end. 

_Carlos. Gavito, look at me._

“I don't get what you're playing at, but it's not working.”

“She's never had a daughter. What are _you_ playing at!?”

_I want you to take Esteban and follow your father. I want you to follow him, and get away from here._

“Who are you to say that? What, were you her lover or something? I don't see what she'd find in you.”

“You shut your mouth right now!”

_Worry not, gavioto. I'm strong. I won't be defeated._

“I won't let you slander her name for your own interest, you pirate!”

“That's it. Now you're looking for it!”

Mendoza grabbed his sword, Fania stole her henchman's blade, and the two of them clashed once more. But this time, Mendoza would not be holding back. Not for anything in the world, especially not against this liar. 

“How can you claim to know her better than I did?”, she hissed, dodging his slashes.

“How can _you_ claim her to be your mother?!”

Metal hit metal in a rage, one Mendoza didn't even know he could muster. And yet he was going for his target with impressive strength, his strikes getting faster and dirtier with every miss. 

“I'm not lying! Why would I?”

“You are! I know so!!”

_You two escape, quickly. We'll meet when the battle's settled._

“She had no other children but the two of us! And you want to sneak yourself into that!?”

“The two of- what!?”

The scimitar flew out of her hands when Mendoza struck it, and nearly stabbed one of the goons. Deciding it was way too dangerous to stay here, they ran out, but Fania stayed completely frozen. 

Mendoza panted, out of breath, still beaten and exhausted. He pointed his sword at her, and she barely took a step back. She just stared ahead, into the void, into his aura of vengeful rage. He didn't want to hurt her, he really didn't; but it ached way too much. All he had left of his mother were memories, and that girl _dared_ to insult them by twisting the truth into a pitiful reason to lead people. What else was she lying about? Was she even employed by Cinza? He didn't care, right now, he was way too angry to care. But she didn't move; instead, she stared right at him, and their eyes met.

“What's your name?”

The question surprised him.

“Why should I give it to you?”

“I gave you mine. Now give me yours. What's your name?”

He was tired, his heart beating to his temples. He didn't want to indulge her, but he just felt weak. 

“Mendoza.”

She blinked, and something in her eyes changed. He wasn't sure what was going on, or even who this woman was, and he didn't want to know. 

But then, she slowly spoke.

“From Barcelona. Is that right?”

This time, it was Mendoza's turn to freeze.

“What...how…?”

“There was a house. A tiny stone house, squished between alleys. And...and the garden. There were the docks, too.”

He could see it. He could see the house, clear as day.

“We weren't allowed to go to the docks.”, she continued. “But...we went. To see the ships going away. And he said...he wanted to be a sailor, and he'd have his own fleet.”

“...a fleet of ten thousand men.”

Their eyes met again, and the familiarity struck him again. That face, he's already seen it! Those words...he recalled them!

_I'll be the head of my own armada! Captain Juan Carlos Mendoza, leading a fleet of ten thousand men!_

“And...and he said we'd explore the world. We'd get out of there.”

_If you're captain, then I'll be captain too! Well, I will need someone to help me man my second ship. Alright then, Junior Captain._

“I...I promised.”, Mendoza whispered.

There was no way. No way in _hell_. And yet...those thick curls, those sobbing eyes, could it be…?

“But then there was...the storm.”, he said. “We were on a boat. And I...I lost him. I lost him at sea.”

“You did.”

She was crying again. But this time, it wasn't from pain. 

“But now...you've found her, haven't you?”

There was no way it could click, and yet it did. There was no way it could ever have happened, and yet...and yet, he wanted it to be real. Mendoza stared at her, completely struck with doubt and disbelief, and the question of all his lifetime barely made it past his lips.

“... _Esteban?_ ”

The woman smiled. A smile he recognized, for he'd recognize it among a thousand others.

“It's Fania, now. Hey there, Carlos.”

And then, it was his turn to cry with joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Read [Where the Ocean Guides Him](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22881205/chapters/54687850) to get the full backstory.
> 
> Will I continue this one? Nah. There's not much I can say that I haven't already said. I'm satisfied.
> 
> The wind sailors said Trans Rights. Deal with it.


End file.
